Title: Masks Chapter Two
Author: Magpie and Wolfling
Email: magpie@moracle.co.uk and wolfling@sympatico.ca
Show: Buffy
Rating: PG 13 this part, NC-17 overall
Category: angst, hurt/comfort
Warnings: spoilers up to the end of Chosen
Pairings: Giles/Ethan
Summary: Giles finds an old friend
Author Notes: Many thanks to Mad Poetess and Wesleysgirl for betaing :)
The club was trashy, and full of an unlikely mix of boys who seemed rather too fond of the Woolworth's cosmetics counter, and the denim-clad rocker crowd with their girlfriends. There was even a hippy or two getting stoned in the dark corners, refusing to move with the times, or indeed, wash their hair. Everyone seemed equally unimpressed with the band on the stage, whose idea of a set seemed to be poorly played cover versions, inaudibly sung.
Rupert Giles slouched against the bar, his eyes roving idly over the crowd, looking for something or, more accurately, some*one* to catch and hold his interest.
As Rupert watched, a slim, long-haired boy, whose make-up seemed more artfully applied than that of the rest of his ilk, was insinuating himself within the massed rocker ranks, much to their disquiet. Rupert continued to watch, wondering if the boy was mentally defective or just oblivious. His very presence in the middle of that crowd was enough to stir up the tempers of those morons; it was going to take very little to set them off now.
The boy's head lifted, and his gaze momentarily met Rupert's, almost as if he had been seeking it out, but then he looked down again, apparently distracted by something one of the heavily drinking yobs had said to him. A broad grin lit the lad's face and then he sat down. Right on the lap of the biggest, most aggressive looking rocker in the group. Definitely mentally defective, Rupert thought, wincing as the drunken pillock yelled and dumped the boy on the floor, standing up and looming over him.
He really shouldn't, Rupert told himself. It wasn't any of his business. But even as he was thinking it, he had got up and was heading over to where the commotion was.
Things happened fast. Still grinning, the boy on the floor said something that caused him to be kicked hard in the solar plexus. The grin became grimace as his arms wrapped protectively around himself, and he heaved for breath that he couldn't seem to get. His attacker pulled his foot back to deliver another blow, and Rupert stepped in to block it.
"Why don't you find someone your own size to pick on, mate?" he asked as he did so. "Or better yet, your own species."
An incredulous sneer adorned the lout's face as he turned to face Rupert. "And who the fuck are you when you're at home then? His little bum-chum? Ah, ain't that sweet." The prat pulled back his arm, ready to throw a punch.
Rupert side-stepped the blow, reaching out and grabbing the bruiser's arm, and yanking him forward while he was off-balance. He sent him sprawling hard onto the tiles.
The rest of the boy rockers immediately stood, outraged by the fall of their champion. On the floor, the glitter-stuck boy who had started all this, raised himself on an elbow and grinned up at Rupert. "Oh nicely done."
Rupert shot him a disbelieving look -- the boy acted like this was a show put on for his own benefit. "Are you tripping or something?"
"I can assure you I'm free of all illicit substances," the boy answered, rolling hurriedly out of the way as the other rockers moved in to jump Rupert.
Attention distracted by the renewed attack, Rupert fought off the other rockers, sending them all crashing into various nearby tables, which started a chain reaction of violence as the people sitting there responded to the interruption. Knowing an opportunity to make a retreat when he saw one, Rupert grabbed the boy's hand and started dragging him towards the nearest exit. "Come on!"
"Oh, are we going somewhere nice?" the boy asked, as he was pulled through the crowd. "Will I like it?"
"We're going away from here," Rupert replied tersely, weaving their way through the growing fight.
The door was in sight, but trouble, in the form of the original lout, was closing on them. Perhaps this was because the boy Rupert had rescued seemed to have a knack for getting tangled up with chair legs and strangers, and each time he did, he seemed to feel a need to apologise profusely and insincerely to all involved.
Rupert really should have left the boy to fend for himself and got out of there before he got in any deeper, but it would have been a shame to waste all the effort he'd already expended... he got them both moving faster instead. When they finally made it through the door and out into the night, he breathed a sigh of relief.
The boy, who underneath the artfully applied make-up looked a couple of years younger than Rupert, leant back against the wall and smirked, looking up from under his brow in a seductive fashion. "Thank you," he said rather smugly. "That was truly dashing of you. I'm Ethan, by the way, and you are?" But before Rupert could answer, the club door opened again, and the big wanker who'd first kicked Ethan appeared. He growled and ran at Rupert with an open knife.
Rupert was beyond annoyed now. He dropped into a fighting stance, blocking the first thrust, then grabbed onto the pillock's wrist and *twisted* until he heard and felt the snap. The bloke fell to his knees, clutching at his broken limb and swearing, cheeks wet with tears of pain. As Rupert stepped back, maintaining a defensive posture, Ethan slowly applauded from where he leant.
"Oh, you really are quite impressive, you know." Not a single word that had emerged from the boy's mouth so far had sounded sincere, and yet the look of admiration in his eye appeared genuine.
Rupert was still disgusted with the whole situation. It hadn't been a fight he'd been looking for tonight, but it looked like that was all he was going to get. "Next time you're on your own," he growled, turning to walk away.
"Aw, don't go. Don't you want to know why I went to all this trouble to attract your attention?"
Rupert stopped. "Do you mean to tell me," he said carefully, "that you started this on purpose?"
"That depends."
"Depends on what?"
The look Ethan now gave Rupert was pure invitation. "On what you're going to do if I say 'yes'."
"By all rights, I should thrash you," Rupert replied, moving closer. He didn't think he was going to though. Not after that blatant invitation combined with the lack of other prospects.
Ethan looked at the wounded lout, who was back on his feet and backing off in a hurry. "So fierce, Rupert. So brutal." Turning back to face him, the boy added, "I *really* like that in you."
Rupert was instantly on his guard. "How do you know my name?"
"Oh, didn't you just tell me?" Ethan asked, with blatantly false innocence.
"No," Rupert said shortly. "I didn't."
Ethan pushed away from the wall and prowled towards him. "I suppose someone else must have then."
"No one here knows it." He stepped closer to the boy, backing him up against the wall again.
Ethan grinned wickedly, clearly delighted by Rupert's action. "Perhaps I'm psychic."
"Perhaps I should thrash you after all."
"Would you enjoy it?"
Rupert gave him his most evil grin. "*You* wouldn't."
"That would depend," the boy said, reaching out with a single finger and drawing a squiggle down Rupert's chest, "entirely on how you went about it."
Rupert stared at him. "This," he said slowly, "is your idea of a pass?"
Ethan laughed, tipping his head back and then, focusing intently on Rupert again, he repeated, "That depends."
"You *are* mentally deficient," Rupert said with disgust, pushing away from Ethan.
Ethan pouted momentarily. "And after I passed my 11-plus as well. That was a waste of time then." Brightening again, he asked, "Do you want a coffee? There's a Turkish kebab house around the corner that serves it so thick and black you could stand your silver christening spoon up in it."
"Why didn't you just try that in the first place?" Rupert asked curiously. "Instead of all that aggro in there?"
"I think that 'aggro' served as a much more honest introduction to each other, don't you? Think how much more we know about each other now. My name's Ethan, in case you didn't catch it before."
"I did. And you still haven't told me how you know my name."
"Buy me a coffee and a kebab, and maybe I'll tell you."
Rupert looked at the boy, considering. He wasn't bad-looking under the makeup and attitude, and it wasn't like Rupert had anything better to do, unless he wanted to go pound heads some more. "All right," he finally said. "But no floorshow this time."
Ethan grinned. "Scout's honour. This way." He started to saunter up the road. Rupert fell in step by his side, having an inkling that this was a very bad idea. He glanced at Ethan again. Could be fun though.
***
Ethan stretched languorously, displaying his long body to what he hoped were appreciative eyes, and paused with his arms wrapped around his head to look around the kebab house.
Dimitri and his brother were working the counter tonight, playing tinny music from the tranny on the shelf as they chattered ceaselessly in their own language. On the other side of the counter, a straggling line of takeaway customers waited dismally for their slice of dead goat in pita, and a young homeless girl wrapped her chilled hands around a mug of hot chocolate at the table near the door. No one was paying any attention to Ethan...
Apart from, that is, the Watcher-in-training opposite him, who was just finishing his chicken shish with extra chillies. Not that Ethan had a clue what a Watcher was; his informant hadn't been *that* informing. But the good-looking boy certainly seemed to know how to watch all right. Ethan dropped his arms and grinned at him.
"Go on then. Ask."
Rupert didn't smile back. He was eyeing Ethan like he was a particularly fascinating insect. When he spoke it wasn't a question. "You've been following me."
"I've been showing an interest, yes."
"Why?"
"I imagine because I find you interesting."
That got him a slight rolling of the eyes. "Why?" Rupert repeated.
Ethan chuckled. "Maybe I fancy you."
The older boy didn't answer right away. He seemed to be trying to see beyond the face Ethan was presenting him. The direct stare was beginning to make Ethan a little uncomfortable. "Maybe," Rupert said slowly, "I fancy you too."
Well that was pleasing, at least. Ethan looked away from the piercing gaze, pretending to be distracted by one of the other customers, but he said, "I like the way you're looking at me."
Rupert grinned wolfishly. "No, you don't."
Ethan chuckled softly, acknowledging the accuracy of the remark. "Well, I *could* like it. In the right circumstances." He flashed another of his winning grins at the other boy. This was a risky game he was playing, but he felt the rewards could be worth it. "What do you see?"
"Masks," Rupert replied after a moment.
"Attractive masks?"
"Yes." Amusement quirked Rupert's mouth upwards. "Vain?"
"Perhaps," Ethan allowed. He was feeling somewhat reassured by both of the answers the older boy had just given him. Leaning forward, elbows on the table, he asked in his best purr, "Do you want to see what lies under the masks?"
"Maybe." Rupert reached out and trailed a finger along Ethan's arm. "You going to make it worth my while?"
A thrill shivered through Ethan as the finger touched him. He could feel his arm hairs rising, goose-bumps forming at the point of contact. "I'll do my best."
"You have somewhere we can go?"
Ethan's mouth quirked. "It's not much. But it's private." Knowing what he knew of Rupert's background, he was a little ashamed of his own living conditions. Not enough that he would do it in some grimy back-street however. He had standards. Of a sort.
"Private's good," Rupert said, standing up and taking hold of Ethan's hand. "Show me."
Surprised but delighted by the hand-holding in public, Ethan grinned around at his disappointingly inattentive audience as he stood. "It's just a few streets away," he said to Rupert.
Outside, it had grown chillier, and he shivered. "Cold?" Rupert asked, glancing sideways at him.
"I'm not wearing much," Ethan pointed out, although he hoped the other boy had already noticed that. "And this fabric's rather thin." He tugged a little at the hand in his, guiding Rupert in the direction they needed to walk in.
"Not very practical." Rupert moved closer so their arms brushed against each other as they walked.
"It wasn't meant to be." Ethan was feeling very pleased with himself. The little ball had rolled around and round the roulette wheel, but it was about to fall into his lucky number.
"Guess I shouldn't be surprised by now -- your little performance back at the club wasn't very practical either."
"Oh, I don't know about that. It worked, didn't it? And I can assure you, I put as much effort into *all* my performances."
"You better." Rupert looked around, then stopped and pulled Ethan to him, kissing him possessively.
Oh yes. This was better even than he had anticipated. Rupert was the one; he had to be. Ethan sank himself into the fierce kiss, melting his body against the other boy's and wrapping his arms tight around the strong frame.
Rupert eventually pulled back. "Nice," he said, running his thumb over Ethan's lower lip. Ethan stuck his tongue out a little way and licked at the tip. Smiling, Rupert pulled it away. "How much further?"
Ethan waved his arm vaguely ahead of them. "Next right, then a left. Not far."
"Good." Rupert started down the pavement again, dragging Ethan with him.
Ethan's legs were no shorter than those of his new friend, so it made little sense that he seemed to be having to walk twice as fast as the other boy to keep up with him. Not that he had much choice about the keeping up part of it, it seemed, as the grip around his hand was strong. At least the brisk pace was keeping him warm.
When they reached the rundown hippy squat where he lived, Ethan pointed at it, unable to hide the distaste on his face. "It's in there. Mine's the penthouse."
If Rupert was similarly disgusted, he didn't show it. He merely said, "Room with a view, eh?" and followed Ethan up the narrow rickety stairs.
Ethan totally ignored the junkie on the first floor stairs and stepped around the pool of something he declined to identify on the second. His was the whole of the third floor, shut off from the rest of the building by a door he'd stolen from one of his rooms and persuaded the big bloke from the basement to fit for him. In return for a favour or three, the nature of which, Ethan didn't dwell on.
He got out his key and began to undo the padlock. Rupert pressed up against him from behind, one arm sliding around Ethan's waist. "Keys in locks -- such a symbolic act," the boy murmured then trailed off; Ethan could hear the frown in his voice.
"Something wrong?" Ethan asked, wiggling slightly and backing into the embrace.
"Depends." Rupert raised a hand and traced the invisible wards Ethan had put up. "You do this?"
"Yeah," Ethan said slowly. "You can sense it? I knew you were the... were special." The padlock opened, as did the door. Ethan took Rupert's hand and encouraged him over the threshold.
Rupert shrugged, dismissing Ethan's words. "Runs in the family," he said shortly. There was a mystery there that piqued Ethan's interest, but before he could even think to follow up on it, Rupert had pulled him close and was devouring his mouth.
The kiss was even fiercer than the first one, stealing Ethan's breath and thoughts. When it broke, he found himself draped against Rupert, panting softly. "Er, drink? Seat? Joint?" he suggested as he recovered. "Bed?"
Kissing him again, Rupert grinned. "Bed."
Ethan led the older boy down the bare floorboards of his short hallway and into the bedroom. It was a small space filled with accumulated junk and no real furniture. The 'bed' was two sagging single mattresses piled together. It all smelled heavily of incense, as that was preferable to how it would smell otherwise. He quickly lit another joss-stick.
Turning to Rupert, he shrugged disparagingly, "Sorry about this. Beggars can't be choosy, as they say."
Rupert was looking at him in that penetrating appraising way again. "Somehow I doubt that you're ever a beggar," he said, reaching out and running a finger lightly down the side of Ethan's face.
A slow smile grew broad on Ethan's face. "Don't you think you could make me beg then?"
The wicked smile he got in return sent shivers down his spine. "What makes you think you're going to have the breath for it?"
***
Ethan couldn't breathe; he couldn't get air into his lungs. He woke from a deep sleep, sitting bolt upright in a strange bedroom, trying to heave in oxygen with lungs that wouldn't work except to cough. But he had no air left to cough with. Panicking, he fought with the tight covers, trying to escape the bed, but his muscles were too wasted away to help him, and his state of imminent suffocation only worsened.
He felt the mattress sink as someone sat beside him, a strong arm going around his shoulders, supporting him. "Easy," Rupert's familiar voice told him. A mask was held over his nose and mouth. "Try to take as deep breaths as you can."
Calmed slightly by Rupert's presence, Ethan managed to take in tiny breaths of the swirling gas from the mask. The more he could inhale, the easier inhalation became, and slowly he relaxed, slumping against the other man in exhaustion.
"Better?" Rupert asked softly as the last of the coughing spasm died away.
Ethan nodded, not yet willing to talk. He reached up and touched the hand holding the mask to his face, fingers shaking like an old man's. He whimpered a little, depressed at the realisation of how he must look to his rescuer who, clearly, he could no longer view as an illusion.
Rupert shifted, the arm around Ethan's shoulders moving in order to pull the strap on the mask around Ethan's head, holding it in place. "Leave it on for a little bit," he said, the arm sliding around Ethan's shoulders again, the other hand turning and squeezing Ethan's fingers, stilling their trembling. "It'll help."
Ethan moved his head back so that he could look up at Rupert. The other man was smiling slightly in a way that was probably meant to be reassuring, but his eyes were full of worry. Ethan knew those eyes better than he knew his own; he'd dreamt of them ceaselessly during the years of torture. Sometimes they had been angry and accusing, flashing with Ripperish rage, but other times they had looked at him with forgiveness and mercy.
In a tiny voice, he croaked behind the mask, "Why?"
"Why did I come for you?" Rupert asked. "Or why did I take so long?"
"The first." He took a breath. "And why this?" His hand moved within Rupert's, trying to squeeze it back and indicate the care he was being shown, but his grip was non-existent.
"Because no one deserves what they were doing to you," Rupert replied fiercely. Then, in a softer tone, he added, "And because I've lost too many friends lately."
"Are we?"
"We were once."
Ethan felt like crying. He was so very weak and drained of anything approaching vitality. They hadn't just leeched his magic from him; they'd taken everything he had. Apart from the memories. With his slowly increasing lung capacity, he managed to say, "I'm helpless in your power again, Ripper. Must feel like old times to you."
Rupert gave a half-smile, though his gaze was weary. "Actually these times are about as far from those old times as you can get."
Ethan remembered something he thought Rupert might have said to him -- in a car? Yes, in the back of a car after being carried from that hellish place. "You're actually in charge of the Council now? That was real?"
Rupert sighed, and Ethan felt him shifting against him. "I'm afraid that is distressingly real."
Distressing? Oh, the Council had been destroyed. Ethan's memories of the conversation the pair had shared immediately after his rescue were uneven and hard to dredge up. He tried to think of some way to express sympathy without engaging in an obvious lie; he was too grateful and too dependent currently to want to upset Rupert. "I'm sorry for your distress." Of course, it still *sounded* like a lie.
"Thank you," Rupert said simply. "With everything that's happened, I've come to believe the Council's downfall was inevitable." He sighed. "I only wish it hadn't involved quite so much death."
Ethan didn't answer. He'd exhausted his very limited supply of sympathy. There were very few people he gave a fig about, in fact the two of them were both in this room, and his reaction to the death of many Watchers, had he had the energy, would have been far closer to Mardis Gras than wake.
Rupert smiled ruefully. "And you really couldn't care less about any of that, could you?"
Ethan had the good grace to wince a little. "Pointless expecting more from me than I can give, Ripper."
"I suppose it is." There was weary sadness in Rupert's voice.
Ethan looked down, the depression that was dogging his thoughts and limbs becoming stronger. "Sorry to disappoint. I am what I am." It had been enough once.
"I've never understood how you managed to go through life without caring for anything." It wasn't said as an accusation, but more with genuine puzzlement.
"I wouldn't say 'anything'," Ethan replied. He began to pull feebly at the mask; it was starting to irritate him.
Rupert helped him remove it, and carefully set it aside on the bedside table. "You do make me wonder sometimes, Ethan."
"About what precisely?"
"You."
Patiently, Ethan replied, "Yes. What about me?"
"How much of the Ethan I know is just...construct. How much is real."
"You used to know that." Ethan shifted against Rupert, trying to turn slightly and get more comfortable.
"Did I?" Rupert asked, even as he helped Ethan move.
"Yes," Ethan insisted, laying the side of his face against Rupert's shoulder. "You would strip me of my defences as carefully as you would my clothes." He felt like crying again; time for a subject change. "What's a bloke got to do to get something to eat around here?"
The arm that Rupert had wrapped around him was more of an embrace than support now, and it tightened at the question. "Do you feel up to eating?" he asked, voice rising hopefully on the question.
Ethan wasn't sure he could actually manage the mechanics, but... "I'm hungry. I haven't eaten in so long; they fed me through tubes." There had been so many tubes and wires of various kinds attached to him, like he was just a component in a big machine. "I became convinced my teeth would fall out. Well, it was something to think about. Passed the long hours, you know."
"They're all still there," Rupert assured him, then shifted, moving Ethan from his arms back to rest, propped up on the pillows. "We'll have to start you off slow. I'll fetch you some broth."
"Oh, gruel. Goody." And hungry though he was, Ethan really didn't want Rupert to leave the room.
"You have to start somewhere." Rupert smiled at him and squeezed his hand as he stood. "I'll be right back, I promise."
Ethan couldn't quite hide his fear as Rupert left the room. Closing his eyes, he sagged into the pillows and concentrated on listening to the sounds the other man made as he moved around the -- house? Flat? Ethan guessed they were in England, but he wasn't sure where. He must have dozed a little because the next thing he was aware of was Rupert softly saying his name.
Ethan opened his eyes and looked at the other man. There was a nice smell in the room; one that made his stomach gurgle, but first he had to cough again. Fortunately, it was over much sooner this time round the maypole.
Rupert had put down the tray he was carrying and moved to support him once again as he coughed. Ethan smiled up a little blearily at him now. "I'm ok. The gruel smells good."
"Only the best," Rupert replied dryly, reaching for the tray and placing it over Ethan's lap'??
Ethan looked at the bowl of broth and the spoon beside it. Hesitantly, he reached down to pick up the spoon. He could see his fingers shaking even before they closed around the utensil, and as they did, Rupert's hand closed around his. "Allow me?" he asked Ethan softly.
"I am reduced to the level of a helpless babe-in-arms," Ethan commented despondently, dropping his hand to his side. "Does revenge feel good?"
Rupert flinched. "I never wanted this," he said quietly, but fiercely, as he scooped some of the broth up and brought the spoon to Ethan's mouth.
Ethan wasn't going to refuse the broth, no matter how demeaning being fed was. He opened his lips and allowed Rupert to empty the spoon carefully on his tongue. The broth was hot, but not burning, and it tasted like the most wonderful pleasure there was on Earth. "Please sir, can I have some more?"
"As much as you can handle," Rupert replied, refilling the spoon and bringing it back to Ethan's lips. There was something about Rupert's expression as he did so that Ethan couldn't quite read.
After swallowing the broth, Ethan asked, "Something wrong?"
"Did you really think that I had... that I knew what you were going through? That I was happy about it?"
Ethan shook his head slightly. "No. Well, not most of the time. Most of the time I just thought you didn't care beyond being glad I wasn't around to bother you and yours anymore." He turned his head away as the spoon rose again; the lump in his throat would make swallowing impossible. Self-pity was never attractive, he knew that. But considering what he must look like currently, that was the least of his worries.
Rupert didn't answer for several long seconds. "I thought... Nothing's ever been able to hold you for long. I didn't give it much thought because I was sure you had got free. I never..."
"Even Houdini got stuck in the end." Ethan had control of himself again as Rupert's obvious distress reassured him a little. "They took my magic, Rupert. All of it." He reached for the hesitating spoon with his mouth.
"I know." Rupert resumed feeding him. "Now."
Ethan concentrated on the broth for a while. It seemed surprisingly filling for what was, after all, little more than water. When the bowl was half-empty, he refused any more. "I clearly have a stomach the size of a shrew's now."
Rupert moved the tray aside. "Considering how long it's been, that's more than a good start."
Ethan was tired, but he didn't want to surrender to sleep again just yet. "Where is this place?"
"London. One of the Council's properties that didn't get blown up."
Oh. "So I'm a prisoner of the Council now. Perhaps the home team's caring to take their turn at torture? They really shouldn't bother; this cow's been sucked dry. Fit only for the glue factory now."
Rupert frowned at him. "Self pity doesn't become you, Ethan. As for whether you're a prisoner," he waved a hand at the door, "you're free to leave whenever you want."
"Very amusing, Rupert. Best joke I've heard in... hmm, let's see. *Years*."
"You did catch the part where I'm in charge of the Council now?" Rupert asked patiently.
Feeling cross and strangely hurt, Ethan turned his head away from Rupert and shut his eyes. "Yes. I'm *your* prisoner; your helpless infant. Well, if you don't mind, your squalling brat needs to be put down for the night now. Don't worry, I don't require a nipple."
"You really don't know me at all, do you?" Rupert sighed and handed over a cell phone. "You're not my prisoner, Ethan. If you're that desperate to get out of my presence, my assistant will arrange whatever transportation and aid you need, to wherever you want to go." He stood and gathered up the tray.
"What am I meant to do with this?" Ethan asked, staring blankly at the mobile.
"My assistant, Ms Smythe-Tompkins, is on speed dial one," Rupert said, heading for the door. "If you want to leave so badly, she'll make whatever arrangements you need."
Feeling quite desolate, Ethan waited until Rupert had left the room and then very quietly he murmured, "Never said I wanted to leave."
Turning to muffle shameful sobs into the pillow, he wasn't aware of the door opening again, or that Rupert had come back in, until the other man sat on the bed beside him, reaching out and laying a hand against Ethan's back.
Ethan tensed and fought to stop the tears. He heard Rupert sigh, and then he was being pulled up into Rupert's arms once again. "No," he cried feebly, trying to push the other man away. Rupert didn't get to see this side of him; not without lengthy and proper rituals. That was the way it had always been.
But he didn't have the strength; Rupert just absorbed his struggles and continued to hold him, much like he had every time after those selfsame lengthy and proper rituals, providing comfort that Ethan wasn't sure he could accept. He couldn't fight, so he just sagged in Rupert's arms, no longer holding back the tears, too exhausted to care anymore.
Rupert held him through it all, murmuring, "I've got you, you're safe," over and over. And at first the words just made it worse, as he couldn't believe them and yet needed to desperately. But then, as exhaustion took him and sobs faded to whimpers, the tone of Rupert's voice, if not the words themselves, began to calm Ethan, and he nestled in the other man's arms.
It wasn't long before he was fast asleep.